Something To Lean On
by BarnumOnTheBrain
Summary: Effie visits Haymitch before the 74th Hunger Games reaping, with good intentions. All she wants is to see him again. All he wants is to see the bottom of the next bottle. But she changes him - she always does. Despite this, is there any point in their reconnecting if she is only going to be torn away by the Capitol once more? Lemony oneshot.


**This is another story in my Hayffie collection, which I'm just writing as oneshot different fics. I hope you enjoy this one :)**

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The road leading to the Victors' Village was not as blackened as the other streets in District 12 but the dirt still clung to her shoes. Effie knew she shouldn't have worn the new leather pair for today – at least, not this part of today. What did it matter what she wore anyway? He never noticed.

The grey sky above her promised nothing but a bleak day, nothing but misery from all sides. She wished she could get out of this District – surely she had been here long enough to be promoted to a better one, District 10 at least. Anywhere would be better than here. All here had to offer was gloom; the miserable faces of the children she sent to the Games haunted her dreams for weeks after the end of them and as there was no hope of keeping them alive, she wanted to avoid that at all costs. And that wasn't even factoring in the resident mentor, the only mentor. It was him that brought her down this dusty, brown road. He always brought her to him. Ever since they met, she had felt as if she had been drawn to him; she didn't know whether it was because they knew, together, they had let their tributes down, year after year, or because no matter how hard they tried, they could never stop falling into one another. Nor could they ever stop falling apart.

She stood, alone, on his doorstep. The whole house stank of neglect – one of the study windows had been smashed, leaving broken glass trailing into the long-empty flowerbeds beneath and through the kitchen window, Effie could see plates of half-eaten food, moulding where they sat, and bottles. Liquor bottles everywhere – on every surface they glistened in the weak morning light and she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

Suddenly, the front door was wrenched open and the smell of rotten food washed over her, along with the sight of the man who caused it. Haymitch slumped against the doorframe, his body sagging towards the floor as he surveyed her through the curtains of his dark hair.

"Hello Haymitch," Effie said delicately. "How are you?" She took a step back from the front door, the stench of the house threatening to overwhelm her.

He snorted and took a swig from the white bottle that was hanging loosely from his fingers. "I'm great," he slurred after he had swallowed the liquor. "What are you doing here, sweetheart?"

"It's time for the reaping, Haymitch, you know that. I sent you a letter reminding you of the date," she replied warily, avoiding his blurred gaze Behind him, resting on a table, Effie could see the knife that he clutched onto for dear life as he slept.

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed," he said sarcastically, swaying on the spot. Effie stole a glance at his face and saw his eyes were bloodshot and wet. "I mean what are you doing here, at my humble abode?" Effie couldn't help but notice the venom in his words.

"I had to see you," she replied quietly, fiddling with her lacy gloves. "Even if you are as drunk as a skunk before midday, although I don't know why I'm surprised, I've seen you like this before."

"Put your claws away woman," he slurred nastily, waving the bottle in her direction. "And havea drink, you're all ruffled."

"I don't think so, Haymitch. One of us at least, needs to remain sober," she replied coldly. This was a mistake. Coming to see him the morning of the reaping was not a good move on her part. She should have come last night, when he would have just been waking up for the night, but before he had managed to pour much liquor down his throat.

He slammed the bottle down on a table just inside of the door and took a large step towards her over the threshold. "I'm perfectly fine," he said, his eyes not focusing on her as he continued to sway where he stood.

"No you're not," Effie answered, trying to detach herself from their conversation. She regretted her decision to come here. This place held so few fond memories for either of them – at least at this time of year.

"It's cold out here Eff, come inside," he said suddenly, having to hold onto her shoulder for support. That's all she was to him. Something to lean on when he could no longer support himself in this world. She wondered sometimes if he even saw her face anymore. But with a sigh, she nodded, knowing she could never really leave him like this.

She followed him into the house, trying to ignore the stench of long gone-off food and vomit. She kept close to his side and shivered when his cold fingers ran down her forearm, catching her hand in his. She had never met anyone else who's fingers fitted so well with her own – not her childhood sweetheart, not the man she almost married, not her old flame Seneca – it was just him. It had always been him, really.

He let go of her hand when he stumbled into the kitchen and made his way through the mess to the kitchen sink. There, he turned on the tap and let it run for a few moments, allowing the water to fill up in his cupped hands before splashing his worn face with it. He did this over and over again, rubbing his skin fiercely, grunting as the freezing water made contact with his face and slopped over onto the tiled floor. After a minute of this, he finally turned to look at her. Effie was stood, looking rather small, in a corner of the room, her face tilted towards the floor, her eyes surveying him through her elaborate eyelashes. His vision was less blurred now, his head felt less foggy and he could hear her shallow breathing once more. He was making her feel very uneasy. Again.

"Feel better?" she asked, not unkindly.

"Worse. But that normally means there's not enough alcohol in me, so you'd say better," he replied groggily. "Anyway, how have you been, princess?"

"Oh, I've been wonderful, thank you," she said, trying to keep her voice airy and carefree. Haymitch raised an eyebrow as he leant against the sink, his wet fingers clutching to the edge of it to keep himself steady. She saw his sceptical expression, and sighed. "I've missed you."

"How much?" he asked, his grey eyes boring into hers. She pulled her head up and met his gaze, not feeling so shy anymore. He was feeling in a confrontational mood? Well, she sure as hell could match that.

"How much?" she repeated. "I was seeing a man for a short time. He was exquisite, everything I always thought I had wanted in a man – and more. He had a brilliant career; he was attentive and caring and wanted nothing more than to make me happy. I thought we were in love. And then the Victory Tour came around and I saw you on the television and it felt like… well, it felt like something had been ripped out of me and been left at your door. The pain – it drove me to want you. He could see it every time he touched me, every time he kissed me – he knew I was thinking of someone else. And so we parted ways. The man I dreamed of as a girl left me because all I wanted was a drunk from a broken town."

Haymitch had listened without saying a word as she spoke, but he opened his mouth as tears slid slowly down her cheek. "So if he hadn't left you, you would still be with him."

"Of course I wouldn't!" she replied, suddenly angry. "I would have left him soon enough!"

"Why? Because he was too perfect for you? Because his career was too good, his house was too magnificent, his attitude towards you too much of a dream?" Haymitch said loudly, pushing himself away from the sink and towards her. The water and her words had done wonders to sober him up.

She took steps towards him, wiping away her tears furiously. "No, Haymitch, because he wasn't you! Is that good enough for you?"

They were inches from one another, both furious with the other for no apparent reason, furious with one another for every single reason. Because they hated the other's guts, because they hated each other's attitudes, because they hated that they loved the other so damn much.

"You're always good enough for me, Trinket," he said, gripping her upper arms and pulling her a step closer. "You're too good for me."

"Shut up, I'm angry at you," she spat, struggling against his hold. "Let me go!"

"You don't want me to though, do you? You want me to hold onto you, to not let you walk out of that front door and to promise that I will never, ever let you go," he replied intently, leaning down his head close to hers. Her frost seemed to melt under his hold. "And I don't want to let you go, Trinket, but you always make me!"

That held her silent for a moment. She hated his words. They were true, every single sound he made was true. His body was so close; she could see the pulse in his neck. He was angry with her for leaving him every year, for getting on with her life and leaving him here to rot. His hands were loosening on her arms and he was pulling away. She should feel sick with herself – after all, this was the first time she had seen him in almost a year and all she had done was tell him how amazing her relationship with another man had been. She couldn't let him pull away, not this time. She loved him, but hated him. He was a drunk who cared little about her once he had enough liquor down his throat and she always chose the Capitol over him. They hated each other with an icy passion. They loved each other with fiery passion. They were each other's passion.

Effie had hardly let him take two steps away from her when she grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards her. She pulled him to her, pressing her body up against his and resting her hands on either side of his face. "Haymitch, I love you, okay?" she whispered, feeling the heat of his body against hers, smelling the liquor on his breath.

He nodded and let himself fall into her again. The feel of her lips against his, the shape of her body under his fingers, it was all so familiar yet missed so dearly. Her lips parted in a sigh and he lifted a hand to her delicate face. His fingers traced along her pale jawline, still cool from the outside air and slid around to the part of her neck that was not covered by her thick blazer. He pulled his lips away from hers gently and kissed along the side of her cheek and down her neck as his fingers fumbled with her buttons. They slid open quickly and he ran a hand inside her jacket, cupping her breast through her blouse, bringing a groan of pleasure from her lips. She slid easily out of her jacket, forgetting it before it had fallen to the dusty floor. Her eyes were closed as he pulled away her blouse, his hands fitting perfectly on her body as he pushed the fabric away from her shoulders and she shivered when his cool hands made contact with her back in his search for her bra clasp. That soon fell with her other clothes and he pulled her back to him, kissing her deeply as he wrapped her tightly into his arms. Their tongues pressed together as Haymitch let out a groan, his hands sliding down her back and over her skirt, pulling her closer to him.

"Touch me, Haymitch," she gasped as he squeezed her cheeks through her skirt. Loosening his hold on her, Haymitch let his hands roam across her front, rubbing across her hardened nipples while his mouth refused to let hers go. Her hands were resting lazily across his shoulders, her fingers pulling at the dark strands of his hair. Her knees were beginning to feel weak as his touches became harder and his tongue roamed more and more freely in her mouth. God, she had missed this. She grabbed his shoulders more tightly and pushed him towards the wall, pressing her body tightly against him. She relished the feeling of the length of him against the length of her once more. His head came down from her mouth and ran along her chin, down her neck and across to her awaiting breasts. She let out a moan of his name as his lips latched around her pointed nipples, his other hand rubbing her other breasts. Her hands gripped his head and she pulled him back up to meet her eyes.

"Effie, I need you," he said hoarsely. "I need you now."

She nodded, feeling burning desire pumping through her veins as he fumbled with his belt buckle and trousers. She turned him, leaning against the wall as his eyes drank her in. She was a magnificent woman. He pushed her firmly against the wall, hitching her skirt around her waist and throwing her laced panties aside. A groan escaped from his lips as he pushed inside of her, gripping her legs and pulling them around his waist. She was trapped between him and the wall – and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Oh God, Haymitch," she cried as he thrust deeper and deeper inside of her, pushing her closer to the edge. Sweat dripped over her semi-naked body and Haymitch felt himself nearing his peak. Lips locked together, they moved fiercely with one another and quickly came together. Panting and clutching the wall for support, Haymitch carefully put Effie onto her feet again and leant against her. She smiled against his shirt, breathless, and felt his kisses on her neck, no longer hungry for her, just gentle once more.

"You are one special lady," Haymitch murmured.

"Thank you," she whispered, ecstasy washing over her.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. "I love you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," she replied, reaching up and kissing him sweetly on the cheek. "And I love you."

They stood like that for what felt like hours, just sensing each other. It had, after all, been months since they had seen on another. All Haymitch wanted to do was stand with her, feel her next to him, hear her slow breathing. But she, the Capitol's Escort, now had other priorities.

Her eyes opened lazily as Haymitch's fingers traced over her waist and she caught sight of the clock above the sink. "Shit, is that the time?" she asked, suddenly fully aware. She stood up straight. "Haymitch, does that clock have the correct time?"

"Wha- yeah, it does, why?" he asked, looking bemused as she began redressing furiously. "Princess, what are you doing?" Already she had flung on her blouse and was just buttoning up her blazer as she marched to the front door.

"I'm sorry darling, but I have to go to prep for the filming!" she said hurriedly, kissing him quickly on the cheek. "It's showtime in less than two hours!"

"But you only just got here, Eff!" he said, grabbing her wrist. "Stay, please stay."

"Oh you'll see me soon enough, Haymitch," she replied, sounding suddenly business-like. "It's just the Reaping – you are coming to the Reaping, aren't you?" She suddenly sounded concerned.

"Oh, I'll be there alright," he said, his mood suddenly black.

"That sounds slightly ominous, darling, what's wrong?" she asked, pulling on her gloves and not meeting his eyes.

Haymitch never was one for holding in his feelings. "We just made love, Effie, and you're running out on me in less than five minutes! You're running back to the Capitol and their fucking Games that have ripped us apart! Every year you go and see two of my children die, and yet you go back to them, every fucking year! Why is that, Effie? Why do you always choose them over me?" He was shouting at her, ignoring the shocked expression washing over her face.

"You would do well to learn to watch your tongue, Haymitch," she said stiffly. "There's no need to use such obscene language around a lady."

"If there was a lady round here I'd be sure to do just that," he spat. "Go on, Trinket, waltz back to your pathetic life and leave me here, as you always do. See if I give a damn."

Effie walked out of the door and back up the road to the main part of town, refusing to linger on how such a wonderful hour with him had burned into black before she could say "Happy Hunger Games". To do so would only mean admitting her most devastating flaw.

Haymitch slammed the door behind her and grabbed the bottle that still stood on the table there, taking a swig. He had two hours to play with. Two hours to drown every single memory of this afternoon with her, two hours to ignore what was fast approaching. Two hours to pretend she didn't even exist. But no matter how much alcohol ran through his body, there was no comfort for him at the bottom of any liquor bottle. She was the only comfort in his life. Unfortunately, she was also the greatest agony he faced awake.


End file.
